Chapter 18 - The Birthday Without Uncle Vince
Ivy turned nine in November.
Her birthday had always been a large family event.
Richard used to arrive early carrying something ridiculous.
A telescope.
A child-sized workbench.
Once, a twenty-pound box of building blocks because he said “small kits encourage small thinking.”
Vincent always came too.
Not this year.
Ivy noticed.
“Is Uncle Vince mad at us?”
Felicity and Damon exchanged a glance.
They had agreed on language beforehand.
“He and Dad are having a serious disagreement,” Felicity said.
“About Grandpa?”
“Partly.”
“Can I call him?”
Damon’s instinct was no.
Hard.
Immediate.
But children were not property in adult wars.
He answered carefully.
“Not right now.”
“Why?”
“Because some things are being handled by lawyers.”
Ivy groaned.
“Lawyers ruin everything.”
Damon almost laughed.
“Sometimes they prevent things from getting worse.”
The birthday remained small.
Claire came.
Nora stopped by with a gift.
Martin Bell mailed an architectural model kit “from one retired numbers man to one future builder.”
Felicity baked the cake.
Damon burned the first batch of pizza rolls.
For two hours, they almost looked like the family they had been.
After Ivy went upstairs with Claire, Felicity stayed behind cleaning.
“You don’t have to do that,” Damon said.
“I know.”
They worked side by side.
Then Felicity said, “I miss this.”
Damon continued loading the dishwasher.
“So do I.”
“Is that enough?”
“No.”
She nodded.
Neither pretended otherwise.
The investigation continued.
Gerald agreed to cooperate formally.
Russell produced old tax files.
The company’s civil case over the Tennessee land advanced.
A judge issued a temporary order preventing sale of the property while ownership was litigated.
Vincent’s planned $11.8 million closing collapsed.
His attorneys became more aggressive.
Then outside counsel received a strange proposal.
Vincent would resign from the board.
He would transfer disputed Tennessee property to Hale Development.
In exchange, the company would release civil claims against him and agree not to refer findings to law enforcement.
Helen rejected the last condition immediately.
“The company cannot promise to suppress evidence of possible crimes.”
Damon did not participate in negotiations.
But he heard enough.
Vincent was scared.
Days later federal investigators contacted Hale Development.
No one knew exactly what prompted them.
Gerald’s lawyer.
Bank reports.
The civil filings.
Perhaps multiple sources.
A formal inquiry began.
Damon’s role narrowed further.
Preserve records.
Answer questions.
Do not interfere.
Felicity was interviewed with her attorney present.
She returned five hours later.
Damon was waiting at Claire’s apartment because he had brought Ivy for dinner.
“How was it?”
Felicity removed her coat.
“Awful.”
“Can you tell me anything?”
“Some.”
She sat down.
“They asked about the fourth transfer.”
Damon nodded.
“I told them I suspected the documentation was false when I signed it.”
He looked at her.
She continued before he could speak.
“I could have said I wasn’t sure. I could have made it softer.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was sure enough.”
Damon felt a strange combination of anger and pride.
“You know that hurts you.”
“Yes.”
“What did your lawyer say?”
“That telling the truth early is better than getting caught minimizing later.”
Damon smiled faintly.
“That sounds like Helen.”
“It sounds like every lawyer now controlling our lives.”
They laughed.
Quietly.
Then Felicity became serious.
“They asked whether you knew.”
“And?”
“I said no.”
“Because I didn’t.”
“Yes.”
“Did they believe you?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked exhausted.
Damon poured her water.
Their fingers touched.
Neither pulled away immediately.
Upstairs Ivy suddenly shouted:
“Dad!”
Both ran.
They found her sitting on Claire’s guest bed holding an old photograph.
Nothing was wrong.
“I found Grandpa!”
She held up a picture from Damon’s childhood.
Richard stood behind a twelve-year-old Damon at Bellweather.
Vincent was beside them.
Margaret sat on the porch.
Ivy pointed.
“You and Grandpa have the same smile.”
Damon stared.
Biologically impossible resemblance could be coincidence.
Or learned expression.
He smiled.
“Maybe I copied him.”
Ivy looked pleased.
“See? You can inherit things that aren’t in blood.”
Damon and Felicity exchanged a glance.
For an eight-year-old—now nine—she had accidentally summarized the entire family.
Then Ivy turned the photograph over.
A message was written on the back in Richard’s hand.
Bellweather, 1997. The summer Damon asked if I would always be his father.
Underneath:
I told him yes.
Damon stopped breathing.
May you like
He did not remember asking.
But Richard had remembered for nearly thirty years.
